


Asgardian Mead, The Avengers, and Baking

by msxylda



Series: Barnes's Beginnings [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: But there's baking, Darcy wants to drink with the avengers, F/M, Fade to Black, I might write the smutty bits later, It's not as much fun as she thought, Natasha Wanda Vision Jane and Thor are all horny drunks, Sam and Rhodey make poor life choices, So does darcy, Steve Tony And Clint are all sad drunks, Until the problems with the flour, for now, in theory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-19
Updated: 2016-09-19
Packaged: 2018-08-16 02:17:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8082859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/msxylda/pseuds/msxylda
Summary: Darcy wants to go get drunk with The Avengers, but the night doesn't really go as well as she'd hoped.
For Livvy1800, so she feels better.
As always, unbeta'd. Because WHO DOES SOMETHING LIKE REREAD THINGS THEY WROTE? NOT ME, OBVIOUSLY.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Livvy1800](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Livvy1800/gifts).



It had seemed like such a good idea at the time, Darcy Lewis thought mulishly. When Thor had shown up in a sudden lightning storm with his flowing cape and equally flowing hair and offered to whisk her away from- quite frankly- boring science stuff to go _drinking_ with _The Avengers_ how could she say no?

Well, okay… technically he’d come to whisk Jane away, but Jane wasn’t having it. It took hours- literally hours- of both Thor and Darcy pouting and throwing puppy dog eyes to get her to finally relent. Well, that and some frankly indecent promises. But whatever, it was worth making muffins every morning for the next six weeks just to get to go _drinking_ with _The Avengers_.

Her suspicions were confirmed when on the way- in a jet provided by Tony Freaking Stark, not by Mew-Mew express- Thor admitted that this was all a ploy by Tony to get James Buchanan Barnes, a.k.a. The Winter Freaking Soldier, to come out of his shell. And to get Steven Grant Rogers, a.k.a. Captain Freaking America, to stop hovering like a mother hen. And she would get to see Clint Francis Barton, a.k.a. The Jack Booted Thug Who Had Biceps For Days So He Was Sort Of Freaking Okay, At Least To Look At, again.

It was going to be fantastic.

Until Thor broke out the Asgardian Mead.

Fuck Asgardian Mead.

Instead of getting pleasantly tipsy and making a few mistakes she had one drink. One. And within thirty minutes she was in one of The Avengers Compound’s lavish bathrooms reliving the frozen burrito she’d had for lunch. 

She had wanted to die. Seriously, crawl into a closet somewhere and just wait for the end. But since she’d thoroughly blown it- literally- she knew she’d never get the chance at _drinking_ with _The Avengers_ again, she scraped up what was left of her pride and rejoined the fray.

She needn’t have bothered.

There she was, painfully sober since there was no way in hell she was giving that Asgardian Mead another go, watching The Avengers behave like… well, like they were drunken idiots.

And not in the fun way.

No. Not in the fun way at all. Instead, Natasha had insisted on speaking only in Russian by the time that Darcy had returned, and was watching Dr. Banner like he was some kind of prey. Not that he seemed to mind. He had to have noticed, as he was abstaining himself, but he just kept throwing her meek little smiles here and there as he tried to keep Tony in line. 

Right up until he took his glasses off and maintained eye contact with the gorgeous Russian Super Spy Assassin Extraordinaire while he cleaned them. And sure, it was cute, but it wasn’t enough to prompt even butterflies in her stomach. Natasha, however, must have felt differently. She growled. An actual growl. Terrifying as fuck, especially when she threw back one last shot of the malicious mead before vaulting over the bar and hauling Banner by his hair out of the room.

Without her to keep Clint company, Darcy had a brief hope that she could make a mark out of the famous marksman. No such luck. Clint got morose about missing his wife. HIS WIFE. His freaking wife who’d given him three perfect freaking children! Just as she was wondering why no one thought to tell her that Muscles McHotBod had a wife before she wore her tightest jeans and lowest cut shirt, he climbed into the heating vents and vanished.

At this point, Colonel Rhodes and Sam Wilson- her next potential target- got into some kind of dick measuring contest where they decided that they needed to see who was the best flier. Totally smashed. And yeah, Darcy probably should’ve stopped that but McHotBod was married and she’d worn super uncomfortable jeans for no reason so let them make questionable decisions with expensive flight gear. 

Who cared anyway?

Certainly not Jane and Thor who were busy making out in the corner…

She spared a brief moment to calculate where Jane was in her cycle. It was a habit she’d developed since her scatter brained best friend had started dating an actual God of fertility, someone had to. It wasn’t during her most fertile time, though, so she reasoned that there was less of a chance of them creating little princelings should they forget protection. Again.

Besides, they were getting really into it and there was no way she was getting in the middle of that.

Not again.

Not for anything.

With a shudder she forced back that unpleasant memory and focused on Wanda and Vision. Well, she tried to. The pair had disappeared somewhere and that was definitely worth noting…

Right up until Steve Rogers began to cry. Without his friends to keep an eye on him, Tony and Steve had sequestered themselves on one of the couches and were pouring over pictures of Howard Stark. They’d both gone far past morose and were commiserating over how they’d both done a disservice to the deceased by thinking poorly of him. This, somehow, turned into commiserating over their lost loves (Pepper and Peggy) and how they didn’t get to have nice things because they weren’t normal.

There was a ninety-seven percent chance, Darcy figured, that the two of them would end up having drunken make-outs right there on that couch. Probably ending in some epic frottage that ruined at least one cushion. 

Not that she could share this assumption, however, since the only person left at the party besides her was James Buchanan Barnes.

A.K.A. The Winter Freaking Soldier.

He was also still sober, having stated shortly after their arrival that he couldn’t drink on his anti-depressants. While Darcy had admired his conviction, she’d also sort of written him off at that point. This entire party was to get him to loosen up and instead he just sat there. Like a lump. Watching everyone else make bad decisions.  
Kind of like she was…

Damn it.

With a sigh, she finally got up from her very comfortable armchair and made her way over to the loveseat where Barnes was apparently watching … Gilmore Girls?

The fuck?

Not wanting to give that anymore thought than a quick question mark warranted she turned to the man and asked “So, how about them Yankees?”

He didn’t look at her, he didn’t move at all, and yet she could still tell that he’d turned his attention to her rather than the argument Lorelai was now having with Luke. It was unsettling. Even more so when he said, in a flat voice, “pack of cheaters, that’s what they are,” before his focus was back on the TV.

It took several long minutes for her brain to make the connection. When she did, she spoke without conscious thought. “Dude, did you just make a Family Guy joke?”

His lips quirked, just a fraction, but he still didn’t turn to face her. “Well, there’s not much else for me to do around here. I’m not allowed out Avenging so I just sit around and watch TV. All day. Every day.”

At which point he wasn’t even giving a little hint of a smile. He seemed even more dead, in fact, and it was just sad. So sad that something in Darcy snapped. Without thought- again- she jumped up from the couch and grabbed hold of his left hand, pulling him with her. It must have been a measure of his shock that she was actually able to pull him. Big dude like him could’ve stayed on the couch if he’d wanted, and that was without the weight of the metal arm she was holding and the super soldier serum pumping through his veins.

“That is not acceptable,” she managed to choke out as she ran her fingers over his metal knuckles. There was something about them… different and dangerous and… Nope, she thought, not going there. “You do not sit around and watch TV when you’re depressed.” She informed him as she pulled him towards Tony Stark’s wet dream of a kitchen.

“You don’t?” he asked, his voice actually quizzical. And, damn him, that inflection in his voice was enough to get her to look back over her shoulder. His freaking eyebrow was actually quirked as he watched her.

Intently.

She stumbled.

Just a little, and she fully planned on blaming on the mead.

Still, as Barnes reached out to steady her with his flesh hand, she found she didn’t actually mind too much.

Clearing her throat (there was a large ball of UST forming there) she managed to choke out. “Of course not.” One more cough and she was actually able to speak normally. “When you’re upset, you bake.”

“You do?”

They were in the kitchen by that point, so Darcy felt reasonably sure it was safe to drop his hand and take a step away. Even if he did wander off, she needed the distance for her sanity. “Um yeah, where do you think these came from?” She asked as she skated her hands over her hips.

Clearly, she thought as she realized she was groping herself, she needed more space. And, quite possibly, more Asgardian Mead.

Barnes’s eyes traced the same path as her hands, and god help her she felt them, until she shuddered and fled for the pantry. With her head shoved in the closet and surrounded by old friends it was much easier to speak. 

“What do you prefer, sweet or savory?”

“I don’t remember,” his deep voice said from right behind her, causing her to jump slightly. When had his voice gotten that deep? Wasn’t it tight and robotic. “Why don’t you help me figure it out,” he prompted as he reached his arm- the right one- slowly past her head so it brushed against her hair and grabbed the flour. It pulled back achingly slowly until he was able to transfer the flour to his other hand somewhere over her head. She shifted, taking half a step back and ended up wiggling her butt right up against—

The flour exploded, covering them both.

“Oh God, Darcy, I’m so sorry,” he squeezed out as she just blinked through the white mist.

Had he… 

“I don’t know what the hell went wrong.”

…destroyed the flour…

“I never squeeze things too tight.”

…because she’d…

“I swear I’m very careful.”

…rubbed up against him?

“Very controlled!”

“Oh fuck the fucking flour,” Darcy growled as she whirled on the man. He was shocked by her outburst, clearly, and as covered in flour as she was. It would have been hilarious, him looking like a blinking bad boy snowman, if it wasn’t for the fact that he’d exploded a bag of flour over her.

And not just literally!

Besides, there was something else she liked to do when she was depressed. Something she hadn’t had the opportunity to do in far too long. Something she really, really wanted to do with The Winter Solider who was now wearing an appropriate color and dear god she had to stop that line of thought before she did laugh…

That would kill the mood.

Not trusting herself, she tugged the man down as she thrust herself up on her toes and kissed him. Solid and firm her teeth clicking against his in her eagerness. His hand fisting in her shirt until it tore in his. It was rough, it was frenzied, it was so much better than baking…

He ended up lifting her up by her thighs and carrying her out of the common areas, without breaking the kiss. Past Tony and Steve kissing (called that) and Jane and Thor… not kissing (ew) before heading through the labyrinth of corridors into what was, presumably his room. Where their strenuous activity was much more satisfying than baking. Probably just as bad for her but fuck it, it was worth it. If she had her way, she’d be doing it as often as she baked.

And yes, she did remember that she owed Jane muffins every morning for the next six weeks…


End file.
